Diane Coffey

Autumn In The Year 3000

Sun bathes my garden in white heat
And I work slowly.
I unhook leaves from my artificial trees
Replacing them with gel-filled berries.

Before our world overheated,
Writers described autumn's swirling mists,
Its cool breezes,
Scents of damp decay.

I cannot imagine it and
Exhausted, I return to my dome.

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